


Gibel

by SpicySannd



Category: Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Death, Could be read as romantic but also platonic, Dream SMP War, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicySannd/pseuds/SpicySannd
Summary: It happened so fast, so unexpectedly fast, and his brain latches for a thought in his blank mind. He doesn’t have enough time.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 227





	Gibel

**Author's Note:**

> This story is purely fictional, and takes place wihin the Minecraft world. In the event that any of the minecraft youtubers included claim to be uncomfortable with this fic, or George and Dream feel uncomfortable with shipping, it will be taken down immediately.
> 
> Enjoy.

Time, is something man-made.

We all experience it differently, such as claiming that the day disappeared in the blink of an eye, whilst others seem to drag out every second to the maximum.

Unlike many dramatic tales in which George had been the unfortunate soul to overhear in the dead of the night, time seemed to slip through his fingers, like the finest sand corn in his hand. His breath choked to a halt, his legs and arms shaking under the mere force of existence being stripped from his soul and body.

It happened so fast, so unexpectedly fast, and his brain latches for a thought in his blank mind. _He doesn’t have enough time._

The sword has pierced through him, he thinks, yet unsure, his mind ripped apart in sensory overload grasping his throat in a brutal attempt to choke. Someone is yelling, well of course someone is yelling, they are located in the middle of an attack, a war. Someone always yells during war.

Cold, he feels icy as the rivers freezing over within their village during winter. Snowflakes intertwine in his gut and runs up his spine and around his fragile lungs.

George’s gaze lands on the sword, in which he notices a white-greyish color sparkle between all the blood. If it pierced him fully, it must be diamond, that much he’s sure of from what his friends have taught him through his struggling times of disability, colors aren’t important, but function is.

His vision is slightly blurry, which the brunet supposes must be tears forming due to the heavy pain, but he manages to make out the image of his opponent. Blond hair, uniform, George is sure it’s Tommy.

He looks terrified, shocked, which George understands to some level, especially as there’s a lot of blood everywhere at this point, and George knows he’s bleeding to death. Tommy always appears to be this arrogant child, who dreams of ruling over every grass block within his sight with an iron fist, but for the first time, George thinks, Tommy finally understands what he has brought upon their once peaceful lands.

George pities him.

Tommy’s trembling stance doesn’t last long as the yelling voices seem to move closer. The younger swiftly retracts his sword, but George feels the sharp blade all the same. His mouth opens slightly, but he can’t find his voice. He wants to scream at the top of his longs, both because he feels the most terrible pain he has ever felt in his entire life, but also because he _knows._

Then he falls backwards, and he lacks the mental energy he needs to mentally prepare for impact as his body will connect with the bloody grass beneath him, but he never hits the ground. No, soft, yet strong arms cradle him close as if he was the dearest treasure to exist. It’s because of that, he knows he’s in Dream’s arms.

His eyes flutter open carefully, not having realized they had automatically closed tightly upon falling in the air. The brunet’s sight remains somewhat blurry, and he continuously shifts in and out of focus without control, but he will always be able to tell the face of the people he loves dearly no matter what. Even without the mask, George _sees_ him, just like he always has.

Someone else is pressing onto the gory wound, or maybe it’s Dream. George can’t find the will to figure it out. Something trickles down his chin as he shivers, and in a moment of ridiculousness, the older wonders if he’s drooling.

“-No, you idiot. That’s blood,” Dream’s soft voice cuts through, and it’s the first time he can actually hear him despite all the yelling that surely must have been him, a silly chuckle that twists into something more of a quiet hiccup. Dream’s hand is clinging to his own, and George’s blood is everywhere on the dirty blond. The brunet feels more peaceful like this, or as peaceful as you can feel when you’re bleeding out and heaving after breath that he just can’t seem to catch in the right amount. The hand leaves him and moves upwards as it gently stokes his cheek, and George can feel Dream tremble. He can feel every emotion, every thought. He has so much to say, so much to do, but he’s also so tired at his point.

“I’m scared,” George whispers, his voice barely audible as he nearly chokes on his own blood. Dream quickly shushes him and tucks him under his chin and closer to his chest, and George knows.

“It’s okay, I’m right here- I’m right here.”

George feels cold, but Dream’s touch leaves a warm mark on him.

Time’s up.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a one-shot, but I have plans for a much longer fic.


End file.
